


You're Not Wrong

by wingdings-in-the-speedforce (JaydenNara)



Series: Paparazzi, Social Media, and General Stupidity. [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dick and Dami Week 2019, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Gen, Misunderstandings, Paparazzi, Protective Dick Grayson, Wally is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenNara/pseuds/wingdings-in-the-speedforce
Summary: Bruce isn't going to be happy. Dealing with the paparazzi and press is annoying enough, but Dick just had to go and make it worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wasterella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/gifts).



> This is my first DC fic.

Dick Grayson stumbled out of his bedroom a little after noon on a Tuesday to find one Wally West at his suspiciously clean dining table. His table sported a bar stool and recliner rather than traditional dining chairs. Alfred hated them. The case that had been spread over half the surface was now neatly organized and catalogued for future inspection, and a clean cereal bowl and spoon sat with a box of sugary cereal in front to the recliner on the table.

Slumped into the recliner chair, Dick poured himself a bowl of cereal while he squinted at his unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome guest perched on the bar stool across from him. “Did you clean my apartment?” he yawned. The counters were clear, the garbage was empty, laundry was absent from the couch, and he could see the floor. 

“I had time.”

Dick didn't even blink when a carton of milk appeared in front of him. He poured it into the bowl, and the carton disappeared just as quickly. Something smelled fishy. Not literally at least not anymore, but something was definitely afoot.

Crunching on a few bites of cereal, Dick studied his best friend. “Not that I don’t love ya, Walls, but whatcha doin’ here?”

The Gotham Gazette smacked the table at Dick’s elbow. “Thought I’d give you a heads up before chaos descended,” Wally said. His smile wasn’t quite right. “Surprised Tim didn’t beat me to it.”

“You’re faster,” Dick murmured as he stared at his own laughing face on the front cover with his youngest brother Damian Wayne. 

_ Is Damian Wayne really Damian Grayson? _

“Dick?” Wally gently prompted.

“I... ahh...” Dick tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat and tried again.

The front page boasted a large image of Dick and Damian at the old arcade in downtown Gotham. Dick’s head was thrown back in laughter while Damian scowled cutely up at him. It was a semi-old picture because Damian appeared to be around 11 in the photo, so shortly after he had come to live with them in Gotham, and Dick had decided to get him to act like a kid for the day by introducing him to the wonderful world of video games. In that particular moment, Damian had been trying weasel more tokens out of him for his newly discovered favourite game, Cheese Viking.

The short teasing blurb that accompanied the photo suggested as the title did that there was recent evidence to say that Damian was biologically Dick’s child. Dick hurriedly flipped to the promised details on page 6.

“You okay, man?” Wally asked.

Cereal abandoned, Dick poured over the article. “Are they crazy! I would have been 11 when he was born!” he exclaimed. “Oh man. B’s going to kill me. He has enough trouble with Damian’s public image without... without...” He gestured helplessly to the paper.

The article, rather in-depth speculation on the nature of the Gotham’s most influential family, was accompanied by several other photos of both Damian and Dick, and even one of Bruce, as they were analyzed, criticized, and compared their ever feature to Damian’s eyes, his mouth; his nose; his skin tone; his jaw; his cheekbones; his smile. Evidently, there was enough superficial evidence to claim that Damian indeed could be Dick’s biological son. The so-called proof came in the form of a public incident three days ago.

As promised, Dick had met his 13-year-old brother at the Gotham art gallery and spent the day with him hearing about brushstrokes, colour palettes, impressionists, and other things Dick still didn’t quite understand, but it had been nice to see Damian so comfortable and in his element outside of battle. 

By the time lunch rolled around, Dick smiled and nodded along eagerly as Damian continued to lecture him on the merits of Classical art versus Baroque, which all sounded old and boring to Dick, but was clearly very different to Damian. Dick loved every second. 

The cafe they were at was small with a little patio out front, an odd choice in Gotham, but pleasant in the cool warmth of spring until the bright flash of a camera startled them both. A paparazzo with a large camera cheekily snapped another photo of them when they both looked up. 

“Damian, is it true that you recently lost your mother and that is what prompted you to fund the Gotham Clinic for Women to help young single mothers?” the man rapidly shot at Damian. “If she is still alive, why were you seen entering the Gotham cemetery with flowers last week?”

Anger had been Damian's response to the intrusion as his hand clenched around the handle of a butter knife, but concern had been Dick’s because he immediately pulled Damian behind him, shielding him the intrusiveness of the camera and the questions still being thrown at him. The man aggressively tried to get a shot around Dick’s twisting body that safely hid Damian from sight. 

“Is she dead? What is the real reason you came to live with Bruce Wayne? Did she want to keep you? ”

Damian’s tiny fist clenched around the back of Dick’s t-shirt, his hand trembling with barely contained rage, but also poorly disguised anxiety. It was enough for Dick to scoop up the young boy and clutch him to his chest, hiding Damian’s face in his shoulder and tugging up the hood to hid him from sight. 

“What is wrong with you!” Dick shouted. The jovial light had long disappeared. His usually bright eyes were dark with rage. “Stay the hell away from my kid!”

Damian tensed in Dick’s hold, but for once, he didn’t protest the protective embrace because the anger rolling off Dick was palpable. He clung to Dick, knees digging into his sides, as the staff of the cafe kindly ushered them safely inside and locked the door. Dick called Alfred to pick them up. 

The few patrons inside the cafe could be heard murmuring from the front where Dick sat wedged in the corner of the staff room out of sight with Damian seated on his lap. The death grip on the boy hadn’t lessened, but he rubbed along Damian’s back. It was debatable who the action was more soothing for. 

“Richard, your interference was unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of defending myself against the ignorant plebian vultures that enjoy meddling in our lives,” Damian said, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Though the sentiment is appreciated, please refrain in the future.”

Dick likely would have believed him if he had not spent years learning Damian’s every tell and insecurity if he hadn’t spent years encouraging him to be the kind, sensitive boy he was instead of hiding behind cold indifference. “I know, Dami,” he said softly. He swept Damian’s hair back off his face and kissed his temple. “That doesn’t mean you have to. My job is to take care of you, kiddo.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Father would be disappointed if I stabbed a photographer with cheap silverware,” he said, which made Dick chuckle.

Twenty minutes late, Alfred had arrived to bring them home, and now Dick was staring at a photo of his own anger. He looked ready to kill for the boy hidden behind him. Sometimes Dick thought he might actually if it ever came down to it.

_ Grayson is often seen picking up Damian at Gotham Academy despite no longer living at Wayne Manor. Just last week, Grayson attended the parent-teacher meetings at the academy in the place of Bruce Wayne, the boy’s supposed father, and during Gotham’s favourite billionaire’s infamous world vacation, Grayson took guardianship of the then 11-year-old Damian shortly after the boy had joined the Wayne household, a status that he still maintains according to inside sources. His parentage has been long debated due to the sudden and mysteriousness nature surrounding his appearance in Gotham three years ago, but no birth certificate has ever been released. _

Dick let out a slow breath as he continued to read the speculation on Damian’s mother, his ethnicity, and viability as Wayne heir. “Oh boy. Can I move in with you?” He looked up hopefully.

“Yeah, okay, man,” Wally snorted. “Hide from the Bat with me. The World’s Greatest Detective will never think of that. We’re barely aquaintances.”

In the bedroom, Dick’s cellphone rang.

_ Thump! _ Dick’s head hit the kitchen table. “Walls?” he groaned.

“On it!” Seconds later, Wally stood beside Dick with the ringing phone in hand. “It’s Tim. But you have 9 missed calls. Most Tim, but also Jay, Roy,  Babs, and hah... you have Superman in your phone as Uncle C.”

Dick blindly groped for the phone until Wally kindly placed it in his hand. “How bad is it?” he asked Tim in-lieu of a greeting.

_ “It could be worse. At least Damian’s at Jon’s, so there’s that.” _

Dick propped his chin up on the back of his hand. “That’s why Clark called,” he muttered as he sat up. Wally ruffled his hair and headed to the fridge for a snack. “So how mad is he?”

_ “Bruce doesn’t know.” _

Dick blinked. “What?”

_ “I saw it first.”  _ Dick could hear the shrug through the phone.  _ “Then he’s mysteriously had meetings all morning that suddenly appeared on his schedule. I estimate he’ll see it in the next forty minutes, so at least you got to sleep.” _

“You’re the best, Timmy.” Dick sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. The other line beeped in his ear. “Crap. I gotta go.”

_ “Good luck.” _

Dick checked the caller ID before he swapped calls. Apparently, Superman couldn't hide the news from a thirteen-year-old. “Damn it, Clark.... Hey, Dami,” he greeted. “Shouldn’t you be in school? Your dad isn’t going to be too happy to find you skipping.”

_ “Richard.” _

Damian’s curt tone made Dick sigh and slouch in his seat. “It’s not true, kiddo. Don’t let them get to you.”

Damian scoffed.  _ “I’ve studied my genetic make-up at length. I am biologically my father’s son. That was never in question.” _

“Okay...” Dick glanced at Wally who was sniffing suspiciously at an old greek yogurt container that he definitely had not bought. “Then what’s up?”

_ “I hoped that I would be welcome in your home.” _

“You’re always welcome here.” Dick paused. “Do you mean right now? Aren't you in Kansas?”

_ “That is easily remedied by the alien or one of his offspring.” _

“Damian,” Dick scolded. “We’ve talked about this.”

_ “It’s merely a statement of fact.” _

“That doesn’t make it polite. What would Alfred say?” Dick sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face while Wally silently laughed at him. He glared, but the speedster held his hands up as if to say, ‘don’t look  at me, he’s your kid.’ Which was exactly the problem at hand.

Damian wasn’t Dick’s, but he had been in every way that mattered but name. When Bruce had died, or they’d thought he’d died, Dick had stepped in to raise his new brother, but something had shifted in all those months. His slip up wasn’t so much a slip up as his state of mind.

“I’ve got someone faster. Hang tight, okay?” Dick raised an eyebrow at his best friend when Wally groaned and collapsed against the kitchen counter. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“But he hates me,” Wally whined. He flung himself at Dick and dramatically draped himself over him like a heroine in an old movie.

Dick rolled his eyes at his best friend’s melodrama. “He doesn’t hate you,” he argued. “He’s 13 and he doesn’t like that you steal my attention.”

“Either way, it feels a lot like I’m going to get stabbed,” Wally mumbled, voice muffled by against Dick’s shoulder. But before Dick could respond, he was already gone.

There wasn’t even enough time for Dick to dress before the front door opened again. Still pulling on a shirt over his head as he walked into the living room, he saw Wally collapse onto the couch with a full sleeve of cookies while Damian stood awkwardly in the front hall windswept and slightly queasy. Dick chuckled.

Damian glanced up at the sound and scowled. “Tt.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Dick promised. “I threw up the first time, and trust me, Wally’s a lot smoother now than he was when we first met.”

They stood in silences for several painfully long moments until Dick sighed again.

“Dames, he’s not going to be mad at you,” Dick said. He approached the young boy as if he would spook, which wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. It usually involved knives. “I’m the one that messed up.”

Damian was tense in Dick’s arms, and then, he sank into his embrace, tiny hands tightly gripping the back of Dick’s shirt. “No, you didn’t. I was yours first.”

Wally threw Dick a giant thumbs up, and Dick smiled wistfully. “Guess you’re right, kiddo. I was pretty lucky, huh. Come on,” he said and dragged the boy labelled his younger brother to the couch. "Let's wait for your dad. No doubt he'll be here soon."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce trying hard.

Bruce Wayne entered his eldest son’s downtown penthouse apartment in time to hear his youngest son creatively threatened to disembowel Wally West with a rusty spoon. That was quickly followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the floor, which ordinarily would be cause for alarm if not for the cackling laughter, distinctly Dick’s, that followed. 

The reality was better than expected. Wally wasn’t bleeding out on the floor when Bruce walked into the room, but was perched on the back of the old ratty couch that desperately needed to be replaced. He had a video game controller in hand and was intently focused on the ongoing battle on screen between him and Damian’s video game character. Occasionally he yelled an enthusiastic ‘Hadouken’ that was made all that much more entertaining since they were playing Jason’s old Soul Calibur II he left after a night of bugles and peanut M&Ms.

“Taste my steel, soulless ginger manchild,” Damian growled. The youngest Wayne was crouch on the far end of the couch like a gargoyle cursing occasionally under breath. 

Dick had been the one to hit the floor, laughing so hard he’d slipped off the couch. “Oh my god,” he wheezed. “Jay has been a horrible influence on you. I can’t wait to tell him.”

“I’m sure that knowledge will only further encourage him,” Bruce said from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. 

Wally squeaked and dropped his controller, Dick tilted his head back to glance at his adoptive father and grinned, and Damian fell eerily silent as he stilled. 

“I think he’d take that as a compliment, B,” Dick said. He flipped onto his feet from his peculiar position on the floor, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Here to enact justice?”

When Bruce said nothing, Dick’s easy grin faltered. Wally shifted uncomfortably. 

Bruce dropped his defensive stance, hands shoved into the pockets of his pressed dress pants to appear as unassuming and relaxed as he could. No one in the room was fooled. The dynamics of a room always shift the moment Batman entered regardless of who’s present or the persona he presented. The sight of Damian rigid in his seat, eyes downcast and awaiting punishment for the actions and slander of others was unacceptable. Bruce sighed and closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I first became a father,” Bruce said slowly as Dick took a seat on the arm of the couch next to Damian, his side pressed tightly to the younger man’s. “I was 26 and was so wholly unprepared that I was overwhelmed with pursuing justice as Batman and caring for a child that had been traumatized the same way I had. But Dick-”

Wally snorted. “Sorry!” He waved them off trying to smother the awkward bubble of laughter as he slid down the back of the couch and onto the cushions. “He said butt Dick.”

“Child,” Damian huffed, and Dick snickered into a closed fist.

Bruce sighed patiently, a faint smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “But Dick,” he tried again, raising an eyebrow at the wheezing speedster. “Despite my failures, my many failures as I have been repeatedly told on numerous occasion, Dick surpassed my every expectation.”

“Bruce.” Dick shifted uncomfortably because Damian’s hands had clenched into tight balls in his lap.

Feelings were not something their family grappled with often. Besides Dick, every member of the Bat Clan would rather throw themselves headlong into one of the Joker’s schemes than talk about how they felt. As he passed, Bruce mussed Dick’s hair like he had when the man was still a boy, and the cheeky brat grinned up at him. Bruce took a seat on the couch between Wally and Damian.

“Wallace, if you would...” Bruce stared blankly at the young man until Wally suddenly leapt to his feet.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll make tea, bake a pie, scrub the floor, or something,” Wally muttered and hurried out of the room fast enough to ruffle their hair as he passed.

Hesitant, Bruce reached out, his hand hovered inches above Damian’s knee, uncertain, but he let it drop, squeezing his youngest’s leg comfortingly. It was enough that Damian glanced up, curious but timid in a way that suited him far more than his carefully trained expressions of indifference and contempt.

Damian quickly caught himself, his face once more wiped expressionless, but his hands were still tightly curled in his lap. “You are not angry?” he asked.

“What am I supposed to be angry about, Damian?” Bruce asked. When Damian didn’t respond, Bruce continued. “That the media continues to speculate about our personal and private lives as they have since long before you were born, or that they have picked up on a genuine truth that would be unreasonable to ignore?”

Dick whipped his head around so fast that it cracked unpleasantly. Both he and Damian blinked in surprise at their father, one a little more open-mouthed than the other. Bruce had never acknowledged the time that Dick had spent raising Damian, not as Robin, but as the child he was.

“Dick, you took Damian in without question, not as a brother or out of obligation, but something deeper because you knew he needed guidance,” Bruce said. He retracted his hands and leaned forward on his elbows as if in deep thought. “You have become the young men I am proud to call my sons, but I would be foolish to believe that I am anything more than that beyond paper.”

“Bruce, no!” Dick protested. His hand unconsciously clutched at Damian’s shoulder. “That’s not true. You know that. You have to. I had no one. You gave me a home. A purpose.”

“And in turn, you did the same for Damian.” Bruce’s expression was strangely soft. He even smiled faintly behind his closed fists. “I have people taking care of the press. We can’t release Damian’s birth certificate for obvious reasons, but I have arranged an interview.” He paused to quickly assess both his boys. “For you and Damian to discuss the reality of your relationship.”

Damian flinched. “I will no longer be your son? You are passing me off to Grayson.”

“What?” Dick screeched. He turned on Damian, quick to soothe the young man by cupping Damian’s cheeks to force him to make eye contact. “Of course that’s not what Bruce means. Dami, he would never. B! Tell him! Tell him that’s not what you meant.”

The shrill whistle of a kettle echoed from the kitchen.

“Enough, Grayson!” Damian swatted Dick’s hands away and attempted to retreat, but Dick managed to drag Damian off the couch and into an awkward, but tight embrace that Damian continued to struggle in. “I am not a fool. I understand that my conception was not entirely consensual. I was unwanted.”

“No!” Bruce thundered. 

Both Damian and Dick flinched. Dick’s arms tightened around Damian. Even Wally popped into the room wearing sudsy yellow gloves to ensure no one was trying to kill the others while the kettle continued to shriek in the background. That wouldn’t be too far removed from past family gatherings, though usually Tim or Jason was involved. Dick waved Wally off, and the whistle quickly died away once he disappeared.

“Your mother’s deception was unforgivable, but I have, and never will regret you.” Bruce stared sadly at his youngest cradled against his eldest chest. Damian’s hand were tight fist in Dick’s shirt, and as much as he appeared to be struggling against him, he refused to let go of Dick. “You are my son, but it would be cruel to ignore the claim that Dick has in your life. You are so capable, mature, that I sometimes forget that you are still a child.”

There was thunder in Damian’s expression. “I am not a child.”

Dick laughed. “Yes you are, baby bat. Remember who was all worried that I was going to leave you and have my own kid.” He squeezed Damian even tighter, which only prompted the young boy to renew his efforts to escape, though he clearly had no plans to harm Dick.

“Unhand me, Grayson! This is undignified!” Damian howled. 

Dick slid down the arm of the couch, crashing landing next to Bruce with a flailing Damian still securely in his arms. “Never, Little D.”

Things a little more under control, Wally brought out the half-promised tea, but almost dropped everything he was carrying when Damian threatened to castrate Dick so he couldn’t produce children of his own. Only his speed saved him from disaster.

Bruce smiled to himself even as one of Damian’s wild limbs smacked him across the chin. Maybe being a grandfather wouldn’t be so bad, even if it was only in his head. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey! You can follow me here on Tumblr at [link wingdings-in-the-speedforce](https://wingdings-in-the-speedforce.tumblr.com/)


End file.
